Elements of Destruction
by MoonlightPhoenix3
Summary: Five teens are killed and as the legend goes, one wil rise to avenge those he loves. The world is at the mercy of a man without a heart. The only thing he cared about is gone.
1. falling

This story begins where all the stories do. In a place that once had great love. But this apartment was trashed. Love no longer lived there. Several people had left flowers in the doorway and one brave soul taped the newspaper article to the center of the hardwood floor. "Five teens tragically murdered," the newspaper declared, looming in huge print over a picture of four smiling girls and a stoic faced boy. The windows were smashed, furniture was overturned and the separate rooms were ransacked. A woman stopped in the main doorway, holding up a bunch of letters. She shook her head and took off down the hall and down two sets of stairs. Flicking a strand of hair out of her hair, she got in her car and drove the 14 miles to Andiron Cemetery, parking her car outside the gates.

She picked her way through the head stones to stand in front of the five new plots along the back wall. The Wiccans had been there before her, setting down the symbols for which each of the girls had been known.

The first grave stood for Air, the small and care free girl who was often mistaken as the baby. Somebody had left a bundle of feathers and another had left a tiny dream catcher across the broad top of the stone.

The second grave stood for Fire, the reluctant leader who was more than willing to resort to violence. There were nearly fifty tiny half melted votive candles surrounding the base. A box of matches sat atop the stone, just like the previous grave.

The next grave sat in the direct middle of the five. This grave had not been decorated by the Wiccans except for a silver pentagram pendant the size of a quarter on a chain. This grave had been ignored just as the man beneath it had been. People recognized him on the street but the only people to truly care about him were the four girls that resided next to him.

Directly to the right of this center plot was where they had laid Water to rest. There was a water lily in a small jar resting at the base along with a cowry shell necklace. Atop the grave sat a tiny sand dollar of the palest white. Water was as free flowing as her name suggested but steady and strong to the people who cared about her.

At the end was Earth, the simple and sweet artist who had been ready to defend her friends. An abundance of flowers surrounded the base, most wildflowers and black-eyed susans. A thin polished stone sat on the top of the marker.

The woman paused and leaned towards the center grave. "You were wonderful, brother," she whispered to no one. "I wish I could have known you that wonderful. I wish I had realized."

She kissed the tips of her fingers and touched them to the marble. As tears welled up in her eyes, she spun and stormed out of the graveyard, hugging her coat to her as the wind whipped. In the distance she thought she heard a crow cawing. 'A murder of crows,' she remembered with a shiver. As she drove off, a black shape descended on the center headstone, picking and playing with the silver pentagram. Thunder crashed over the city and the pavement rumbled everywhere.

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_((A/N: If you like it, review and I will continue. If I get no reviews, I won't continue it.)) _


	2. rising

The sky rumbled viciously as another car pulled in front of graveyard, this time a younger woman pulling herself out of the driver's side. She was dressed in loose clothes that the wind took the opportunity to whip about. She reached into the back seat and pulled out a brown leather bag, slinging it over her shoulder. She slammed the door and hurried into the cemetery, weaving amongst the tombstones. Near the back wall, she tripped over a granite plate that announced a grave. She swore, lightning crashing as she pushed herself up onto the palms of her hands. She looked up through her short black bangs at the tombstone she had landed in front of.

"Alexander William Fevans," she reads from the marker. "You're just the guy I was looking for.' She sits up, pulling her bag over next to her.

"You don't know me," she continues, opening the bag and rummaging through it. "But I knew your friends. They were helping me." She stops, staring at the chain of the pentagram. Suddenly, she stands up.

"I'm sorry, for what happened to you guys. I wish I could have helped." She pulls places another pendant next to the Wicca symbol.

"So you all can be connected," she explained, draping the chain of the Celtic knot. She moved to the far left.

"Aileen Rebecca Stavar," she announced, brow furrowing as she fumbled for the item she had brought. "I thought hard, but nothing really seemed right for you. So I just brought these." She drew a deck of cards from the bag, shuffling them in front of the tombstone.

"Goddess, give me strength to choose," she whispered. She cut the deck, staring at the picture presented before her. The ace of swords, a fitting card for the girl known as Air. She set the card at the base of the stone, reshuffling the deck and repeating the prayer. She cut the deck, staring at the angel representing Temperance. She nodded, placing that card next to the ace.

She stepped to the right, atop the next grave. "Nirvana Ramona Hekayr," she read, shuffling the deck as she scanned the stone. "Beloved friend, sister, daughter of the world." She cut the deck, face to face with the maiden comforting a lion. She set it at the base, smiling as she remembered the kindness Fire had bestowed on her. Cutting the deck, she pulled out the ace of wands.

"I feel a pattern coming on," she said to no one, skipping over the middle grave to where Water was resting.

"Helen Rebecca Felinda," she said to comfort herself, the name so stodgy it barely fit the girl trapped under six feet of dirt.

"You must be so uncomfortable," she cracked, bending to primp the petals of the water lily. Standing straight, she drew another ace from the tarot deck.

"Definitely a pattern," she said, setting the ace of cups next to the flower. Cutting the deck, she smiled at the serene face of the moon on the card. Setting it down, she moved to the farthest grave. The Wiccans had stacked small stones about the base, each polished and well cared for.

"I love your name," she admitted, shuffling the deck nervously. "So much better than my own." She paused, drawing the ace of pentacles from the deck. 'A deck without aces. How sad,' she thought, wedging it among the stones in a similar position as the others.

"Anna Olivia Donovan," she admitted, reading it from the stone as she drew the second card from the deck. Turning it over, she saw the Sun and blinked hard. 'Way too fitting,' she thought, setting the card with its partner. She backed up, staring at the five graves, each a small shrine for the person who had left this world.

Moving back to the center grave, she stared at the deck. "You don't even believe in this, do you? Well, I promised them. More me than them, but it's hard to just go back on a promise to a dead person, let alone four." She stopped, looking startled.

"I'm talking to myself, in a graveyard in the middle of the night. Great, Terry, you're going crazy." She cut the deck hurriedly, gasping, her eyes going wide. In disbelief, she dropped the card. It fell, landing face up on the fresh green grass. The hanged man. The card wasn't usually a bad omen, but in this case it wasn't exactly a hunky-dory situation.

She stumbled backwards a step, another card slipping out of her grasp of the deck. It too landed face up, this time Terry dropping the rest of the deck to stifle a scream. Justice.

"Something isn't right here," she declared. "Is that why they asked me to do this?? Did they know??!!" She screamed hoarsely up at the sky. "Did they know this was going to happen?!?!"

She fell backwards, landing on the same slab of granite that had tripped her before. The sky rumbled in response, rain falling now, lightning cracking in the distance. Suddenly the earth quaked beneath her, Terry skittering backwards as the cards on the middle grave shook and twitched.

The earth suddenly caved and moved, pale hands clawing their way towards the solid sides of the plot. Terry watched in horror as a thin, exhausted man pulled his way towards the air. He was covered in dirt, his black suit torn, his long chestnut hair tousled and covering his face. She moved back further, her back colliding roughly with a small cherub statue. The man pulled himself over onto Fire's grave, knocking over several of the extinguished candles. He panted heavily as Terry watched in horror.

"Wh-wher- Where am I?" he asked hoarsely, looking around wildly, his brown eyes meeting with Terry's for the first time. "Where am I?" he queried weakly.

"Andiron Cemetary," she sputtered, her eyes still wide. "You were buried almost two days ago."

"No, I couldn't have been," he protested, his voice still hoarse. "I couldn't have. The girls... Where are they? Did it really happen?"

Terry nodded weakly, clutching her hands. "Yeah, you guys all died. I was here-"

"They made you promise, didn't they? Earth and Fire made you promise to come here if something happened." He was looking sullenly, at his surroundings. "Those bastards." He stared at the grass covering Fire's grave.

"You- you know who did this to you?!" She inched forward, part of her wanting to grab her bag and run. She was definitely going crazy.

"It's kinda hard to forget the people who ripped out your heart four times and then put a bullet in your skull." He pushed himself to his knees, his hair draping over his face. "Why isn't there an angel here?? They should have an angel."

Terry sat up straighter, inching forward. "Nobody knew. Your sister took care of the group funeral plans."

"My sisters are dead," his voice seemed now lined with lead. He stood, Terry looking up at the thin form of a man who had escaped hell. He was thin and slightly bony for a 20 year old, but he was very tall, his brown hair reaching his shoulders. She scrambled to stand as he limped to back to the first grave. Terry found her bag and hugged it to her as the man leaned over Air's grave, sobbing. He kissed the marble and moved over doing the same to Fire's. He stared for a minute at the cavernous hole he had climbed out of.

"Justice," he whispered, staring at the card at the bottom of the pit. He moved around, his face still dirty and now streaked with tears. He kissed the top of Water's grave, fingering the sand dollar. He stood, moving in front of Earth's grave, this time collapsing entirely against the stone.

"They'll pay, I swear. I won't let them get away, they don't deserve it. They'll pay. I won't let you be forgotten. I won't let you be a shadow." He leaned against the stone, pressing his cheek to the letters of her name. Terry watched as he stood again, his eyes determined but still leaking tears. He stalked off, his movements jerky and erratic from stiffness and neglect. He brushed past her, picking his way through the tombstones towards the gate.

"Where are you going??" She called, her voice frantic as she began to soak through from the rain. He stopped, turning to meet her brown eyes with his.

From out of the rain, a large crow fluttered to land on his left shoulder. "To talk with the man who stole heaven from me."

He exited the graveyard as Terry felt like a bolt had gone through her heart. "At the right sits the man most trusted but at the left, sits God," she recited, staring in horror after the man and the crow.


	3. helping

**#### STRONG LANGUAGE WARNING #####**

Terry stood in shock, staring after where the man had just risen from his fresh grave. She blinked twice before letting out a string of curses and grabbing at her bag. Weaving through the tombstones, she reached her car and started it anxiously.

Pausing, she laid her head on the steering wheel. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," she muttered, staring at her knees. Taking a deep breath, she regained her composure and turned her car to face the main road.

The thought struck her like a bowling ball being heaved at her head. "I don't know where he's going," she said weakly, lightning cracking back in the direction of the city.

"Where does a fresh corpse go when he hops out of his coffin???" She glanced around helplessly. Something sticking out of her bag caught her eye and she reached over and wrenched it out. It was a cutting of the article declaring that her four mentors and their male friend were found brutally murdered in their loft apartment. _Apartment._ She scrounged for the address she kept in her wallet, shrieking with slight glee when she found the grubby slip of paper. She read the address twice before dropping her wallet in her lap and lowering her foot on the accelerator peddle. It was only a 10 minute drive to the interior of the city, Terry hastily pulling into a spot opposite the apartment building. As she slammed the door to her car, the skies opened further and she was thoroughly drenched by the time she crossed the street.

The front door stood ajar, Terry stopping to stare for a minute before barreling up two flights of stairs. At the top of the landing, she slowed her pace, panting heavily as she searched for the right door. Stopping outside apartment 3F, she peered inside and stared at the tableau before her. The man was facing the broken window, soaking wet and bent slightly.

Terry took a cautious step inside, the apartment looking different from the time she had visited it before. Then it had been over-flowing with personal belonging, bits of clothing strewn over furniture, books on every surface, and the sink filled with dirty dishes. It hadn't been sloppy, it had been well loved and well used for the four girls and this man. Terry took another step forward, inhaling sharply when the man wheeled around, his eyes red and watery.

"It can't be true, they weren't supposed to go." His voice was wavery. Terry looked around dumbly, finally noticing the large difference between then and now. Furniture was overturned, pieces broken off and at the opposite end of the room. A section of the counter had been broken off, raw cement exposed and there were blood stains on the cabinet paneling and in the sink. One of the window panes had been smashed and rain was leaking in, an annoying drip on the hard wood floor.

"What happened??" Terry's voice sounded raw and surreal, not to mention very far away. She met his eyes again and felt as though her stomach would turn inside out.

"They knew too much," he began, his voice more mournful than usual. "About the drug rings and prostitution circles of this city. They kept getting girls out and clean, reforming them and giving them lives. The drug lords found out and sent out their hell hounds for them, all four of them. They killed them for the good they had done, and me for being there." He stared at the ground, before moving slowly down the hall and stopping outside a bedroom.

"That's horrible," Terry whispered, feeling her heart sink. Looking up at where he had disappeared, she stepped into the hall, only to have him sweep by again. He had stripped out of the rotted and damp suit jacket and shirt and was holding onto a black T-shirt and leather jacket in one hand. In the other was an 8 by 12 photograph, all of the faces smiling widely. He set it on the broken counter, stalking off towards the bookshelf next to the window.

Terry stared at the four women who had helped shape her life. Air was smiling so gleefully, her eyes had become tiny half-moon slits. Water was next to her, clutching the smaller girl around the next, her own smile moderate in size. Fire was sitting at the bottom corner, the corners of her mouth turned up in the closest thing to a smile that came naturally to the girl. At the opposite corner sat Earth, her mouth also turned up in an adoring smile, her left arm draped over the man's shoulder. His own smile was shy but small and sincere. Terry looked back up at him, watching as he took things off the bookshelf and put them in the pockets of his black jeans and the leather jacket. He glanced over his shoulder and locked eyes with Terry.

"Who came to purify the apartment?" he asked, his voice low but steady.

"The elders, the watch-towers, the oracle, me and another novice," she recited, remembering the protective circle the women had made in front of the window. They had also blessed the spots where the bodies had been found, lighting a small white candle in the spot.

"Eleven people??" He asked incredulously. "Eleven people?!?! Son of a bitch, how dare they."

"No one knew the whole story," Terry explained, trying to rid the room of the sudden static of anger. "Those drug lords or whoever, I guess they own the paper. They said the girls and you had died of missed bet payments and other shady dealings." She watched in horror as he clenched his fists and turned a look of intense rage on her.

"They were private, the girls. Don't forget, you knew them best. Most of the women in the coven didn't know them very well. But the elders and the watch-towers and the rest of us... We did. We knew them, even if we didn't know what really happened." He unclenched his fists and Terry let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding.

"But you're here to fix that, aren't you? You're going to set it straight."

"Yes, I suppose that would be why I'm back. But they deserve so much better than me. I guess necessity really is the mother of invention. Everyone else in this city is too damned stupid or scared to do something. So it falls to me and I'm glad for once, for the violence. Maybe then everybody else will wake up."

Terry stared at her wrists, muttering, "How sad it is when a dead man must avenge himself."

He reached out, turning the scars upward. "Yes, it is sad. But sadness is a part of life and death. I intend to complete the cycle."

"If you need me, I'm novice oracle Teresa. Light a flame, whisper my name, and I'll know."

He smiled as if out of recognition for the little rhyme all novices learned in the coven. "I go by many names. At least, they all called me something different. Aileen called me Alex. Helen called me Xander. Nirvana called me Lex and Anna called me Lexer. You can call me what you want." He dropped her wrists and turned back to the bookcase.

"What do you want to be called?" Terry queried, which made him turn in slight shock.

"Call me Lex. You seem more like Vanni anyway."

"Vanni?" Terry cocked her head in confusion.

"Nirvana, Vanni, Fire. Whatever you know her as." He shrugged.

Terry stepped backward and hugged her waist dumbly before the idea blossomed. "How do you know where to find these guys?"

"I don't," he replied simply, turning fully to face her. "But I have a feeling that somebody wants to show me." As if it were called, the large black crow she had seen on his left shoulder in the graveyard flew through the missing pane in the window. It took it's former perch on his left shoulder, settling it's wings.

Lex reached up and stroked the bird on it's beak. "They say that crows help dead souls to their final resting place. Help them find peace. And sometimes a crow will bring someone back, to finish what was left behind. Helen told me a story of a man and his fiancé who were murdered for fun. The crow brought him back and he laid waste to those who had hurt him and his love. When it was all said and done, he went back to sleep and hasn't stirred since. He's at peace, just like every other man who was raised before him. Just like I'll be when this is all over with. And then the world can wait for the next crow."

"They're going to be more after you?" Terry hugged herself tighter as if to shut out the idea of more people rising from the dead.

"It's human nature to hurt people in an attempt to be stronger," he explained patiently. "It's what the crow was made to do. And we as lesser being cannot deny it's allotted path. Does that upset you?"

"It scares me the same way an earthquake would. Something you know is coming and can't stop." Terry picked at the mauve nail polish on her fingers nervously as Lex turned back to the book shelf and picked something up. When he turned back towards her, he held a white mask over his face. It was a clown's mask from an operetta or some theatrical production. It was all white save a vertical line through each eye and black lips curved in a smile with a horizontal line halfway across the cheek from the corners of he lips. Terry could see his brown eyes through the holes of the mask but not see his mouth.

"Help me," he asked plaintively, hidden behind the mask. The crow cocked its head and riffled through it's feathers impatiently. 'Best not deny it,' Terry thought and nodded, turning on her heel and striding into the bathroom the five people had shared. Crouching, she withdrew Earth's bag of theatre make-up from under the sink and pulled out two pots of greasepaint, a sponge, and a thin brush. Closing the bag, she set it back in the cabinet, staring at the things the four girls would never use again. Hair gel, body spray, four separate bags of make-up and the theatre make-up in it's neutral washed-out grey. None of it would ever be used again. Closing the cabinet doors, she strode back out to where she had left Lex. He had put the mask back on the bookshelf and was now leafing through a booklet of CDs.

"I still remember all their favorite songs. Vanni had good taste and Helen wasn't that bad. But Anna made us suffer through these songs she loved and eventually, we'd get used to them. Sometimes, I think she knew things before they'd happen. Not oracle-knowing, but just an inkling. She'd listen to this one song over and over again. She always said it made her so sad, but she never knew why. I remember the words, and I think now, I understand. They were wonderful." He closed the booklet forlornly and faced her, his attention instantly drawn to the make-up she held in her hands.

"Hold still," she said in her sternest voice, as if commanding a little child. He hadn't moved and inch away from the bookshelf, so she set one of the pots of paint and the brush down, unscrewing the lid to the paint she held in her hand. Setting the lid face up on the bookshelf, she swabbed the sponge in several circles in the white paint, making sure that there was a good coating on it. Carefully, she reached up and spread the paint in a half circle around his left eye. The crow hopped off Lex's shoulder and glided serenely to the broken counter to watch the proceedings with a glossy black eye. Terry repeated the process with the paint, spreading it from the bridge of his nose to connect with the previous streak of white. She did it again, coating his cheek and half of his chin, leaving a delicate clean line under his jaw. Now cautiously, she loaded the sponge with paint and brushed several strands of thin brown hair back from his forehead and coated it with paint. She performed this process with the other half of his face, leaving small flesh colored circles around his eyes. Gently, she swabbed the sponge in the paint, meeting his eyes for the first time. There was a fleeting look of trust before he slowly shut his eyes. Gently, she brushed the sponge over each eye-lid so that an utterly blank white face was presented before her. Something had steadied her hand with the sponge and made the white paint a perfect oval about his face. Something else possessed her to quickly cap the white paint and drop the sponge, snatching up the brush and removing the lid to the black paint. She vaguely remembered Earth's old trick, licking the brush before swirling it in the paint. She reached out and painted the lines through each closed eye. She outlined the lips and drew the lines extending from the corners, taking extra care to fill in the black paint on his thinned lips. She stepped back, the brush still poised in her hand. He opened his eyes and Terry at once realized something very different about this man and the one she had seen claw his way out of the grave almost an hour ago. There was something harsher in his eyes, and also something sadder, as though the make-up was a sword in one hand and another in his heart.

"Thanks," he whispered, his shoulders squaring unconsciously.

"If you need me," she said involuntarily, stepping backwards. "If you need me at all, just call. If it's for the girls, I'd do anything to help."

"Thanks," he said, just a bit louder than before. "But this is my war. Dead against the living for a blood price. If you want to help, say a prayer for the girls." Terry nodded, numbly registering that she was crying.

"Say a prayer for this city," he assured her. "They don't deserve it, but say a prayer for them." He brushed past her, coat flapping as he walked out of the apartment. The crow followed, cawing at Terry as she collapsed onto the floor.


End file.
